


Prime Suspect

by tattletwink



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Drinking Games, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattletwink/pseuds/tattletwink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody goes out drinking and Hannibal isn't invited.<br/>In before Hannibal ruins EVERYONE'S LIVES.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Will Graham is wrist-deep into a stuttering outboard motor when he hears the dogs barking. Wiping his hands on a nearby rag, he gets up to see what the commotion is at the front door, dogs parting at his presence.

 

It’s Beverly.

 

“Hey, I wasn’t sure if you were home or not. I rang the bell a few times,” She offers, her hands tucked casually in the front pockets.  Will envies her easy demeanor for a moment, before realizing Beverly is probably expecting a response.

 

“Sorry,” Wills shoves a free hand into his hair, his right clutching the edge of the door.  He’s posted awkwardly in the doorway, blocking his excitable dogs from greeting Beverly with an excess of enthusiasm.

 

“Are you busy?”

 

Will realizes he’s holding the door at what could be an anti-social angle and tries to look friendlier in response.  Her smile does little to still his trepidation, but Will tries to make himself relax despite the fact his mind is burning through possible reasons for her visit.  It isn’t urgent because it’s unlikely she would be sent to get him instead of Jack. 

 

Two fingers of whiskey are waiting for him in the living room, but Beverly has always been patient with him and for that she takes priority.  Not many people respect Will’s personal space these days and Beverly is a notable exception.  He forgoes further hypothesizing for the moment.

 

“No, no. Come in.”

 

The sincere invitation quickly falls into chaos because as soon as he drops his blockade the dogs swarm Beverly. Will grabs the closest two by their collars (Winston and Lucy) to restrain them, but there are six or seven dogs (he hasn’t done a headcount since lunch) snuffling at Beverly legs regardless. She walks in anyways, braving the pack, raising a knee to offset a jumping collie (Hanna).

 

“Jeez, have enough dogs, Graham?” she chuckles, scratching a German Shepherd looking dog named Terrence behind the ears after deflecting a couple excitable jumps.

 

“Sorry, they aren’t very well trained…or trained at all in some cases,”

 

“Where did you get them?”

 

“They tend to frequent the area. I started putting food out a few months back, and they just sort of moved in with me.”

 

“Interesting.  Wish I had a wolf pack.”

 

Will half-smiles, looking over his assortment of mutts and strays, “Wolves, they most certainly are not.”

 

Its around dusk. Will finished supper about an hour ago, but had abandoned the dishes in favor of more mechanical pursuits.  He ushers Beverly into the kitchen before realizing his folly, and sets to filling the sink with water.

 

“It’s kind of a mess.”

 

Beverly surveys the kitchen, it’s sparsely decorated and small. “It looks fine to me,” she says amicably.

 

She’s wearing faded jeans with ripped knees and a white cotton tank top.  Will finds himself glancing down the line of her strap down to her swell of her breast when she isn’t looking and feels a twinge of guilt.  Recovering, he offers Beverly refreshment and grabs two cans of Coke from the fridge, sliding an icy glass over to her.

 

 She thanks him and drinks deeply. “So what are you up to tonight?”

 

“I’m working on an outboard motor right now.  But if you want we can review some of the files or try talking out any ideas you may have…?” The question hangs in the air because however pleased he is with Beverly’s presence he’s still unsure of her motivation.  Extra-curricular work is the best justification he can summon at the moment.

 

Beverly laughs and it’s a full sound in the somber kitchen, “Okay we’re _not_ doing that.  A bunch of us from the lab are going out tonight and if it’s cool with you, you’re coming with.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

Tensions lances through his figure as though it’s one of Jacks surmises instead of a casual invitation. Beverly recognizes the parallels in muscle tensions, the way his brows knit and his mouth presses into a firm line. She steps closer towards him, within eyeshot despite his deliberately pivoted glance.

 

There was a reason she drove roughly half an hour out of the city instead of sending a text.

 

Noting her movement, Will smiles and it looks harsh and worn in the hard light of the kitchen.  He sets the glass down.

 

“You know, it’s very nice of you to offer-”  His gaze drops to the counter.

 

“Look, I know it might not be your typical Friday night, but I really think you should come.  Everyone will unwind, we can have a couple beers, make fun of Jack, just hang out as friends.” She doesn’t want to push, but honestly the man looks half-dead most days and she knows she hasn’t spent a healthy amount outside of the FBI headspace for weeks.

 

Will takes a tentative sip from his Coke, eyes flickering over the rim of the glass, considering.  Beverly hopes its because he wants to, not out of a lack of serviceable excuses.

 

“Who’s all going to be there?” It’s a superfluous question. It’s not as if Will has many friends in the department.  Most people tend to shy away from him and his ‘gift’, preferring to leave him in the company of Jack or Alana when possible.

 

“Price and Zeller will be there for sure.  I’m not sure about other people, Price texted me about it this afternoon and apparently the invite went department wide.  So, it could just be us or it could be everyone from the BAU,” She traces the perspiration on her glass, watching Will’s response.

 

Will isn’t in love with the prospect, but it obviously means something for Beverly to invite him, personally no less. He knows he’s less than sociable at work. He unconsciously drums his fingers on the counter.

 

“I’ve got a bottle of whiskey in the car and I’m not opposed to sharing,”

 

Will laughs , “You want to drink before we go?”

 

Beverly grins playfully. “Of course.”

 

“I don’t think I’ve drank in a parking lot since I was in the academy,”

           

“Drinking in your car is highly underrated.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

Beverly surveys delicately constructed fish hooks and aged wildlife illustrations while Will changes into presentable clothing.  He reappears in a faded blue plaid button up and dark denim jeans. Grabbing a jacket, he pours out a few bowls of food for the dogs before leaving with Beverly for the night, screen door banging on their departure.

 


	2. Chapter 2

They pull into the parking lot of the bar after a mostly quiet car ride.  Beverly’s drumming her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the radio while Will fixes his gaze towards the scenery.  They pull into a secluded spot under some overhanging branches at the back of the parking lot.

 

Will can’t make out any distinguishing features of the bar simply because there aren’t any. An older pine exterior with a built in porch, the place didn’t belie any brand or advertisement.

 

Beverly turns off the engine and drops the keys outside the car lest someone from the bureau got a little too enthusiastically letter of the law on them.

 

“Does this place have a name?”

 

Beverly reaches back to retrieve to cans of Coke from the backseat, “Probably, but I sure as hell don’t know it. Price just said it was off Route 7,” She passes him a can before snapping the tab on hers and drinking heartily.  Will follows suit.

 

“It looks…like a bar?”

 

Beverly shrugs, retrieving a bottle of Jack Daniels from under the seat, “Not nice enough for you, Graham? If you like I think I saw a bar with a name a couple clicks back.”

 

“That’s not what I meant.  It’s fine, its just very…nondescript.” Will gave a half smile and held his can out to her so she could pour a liberal shot of Jack Daniels into it.

 

“For now,” They clink cans and drink, “But at the end of the night, we’ll know this place like the back of our hand.”

 

“Or have it wiped completely from memory.”

 

Beverly smirks. “Someone’s ambitious.”  In the dusk, her features look particularly luminous. Will feels calm around Beverly.  One of the few benefits of his empathy was that he can easily tether onto more emotionally stable people than himself. An ability he was greedily taking advantage of at the moment.

 

“I just realized I really don’t know that much about you beyond your specialty.” Will finally says.

 

Beverly chuckles. “Yeah I guess that’s true. What would you like to know?”

 

Will shrugs. “Anything you want to share really.”

 

“Let’s see…I used to swim competitively, but now I swim for leisure three times a week at the Quantico gym.  I busted up two of my knuckles in my hand during a training exercise after a fellow cadet slammed me into a door. My hands a little knotted, but my aim’s fine.  I go the range a lot., which I think you could guess.  I love popcorn and I hate cats and I bought this whiskey because I thought you’d like it, but really I don’t mind it too much myself.”

 

Beverly’s brandishes her right hand, showing knuckles thick with scar tissue. Almost always hidden in latex gloves, Will notes that Beverly’s hands are delicate despite the previous trauma. Despite slight swells around the third and fourth digit, her hands are unremarkable in their affectation and rather beautiful. 

 

“What do you normally drink?” He presses, temporarily raising his thoughts from her hand.

 

“Gin, sometimes vodka.”

 

“I like the whiskey.”

 

Beverly smiles. “Yeah, me too.”

 

Beverly leans against the door to angle herself more towards Will.  He mirrors the motion and the inside of the car feels simultaneously expansive and claustrophobic.  His gaze remains on her right hand.

 

“I’m sure that’s just a fraction of what you’d get if you ever pulled your magic trick on me. Those are just the highlights.”

 

He looks up.

 

She doesn’t betray a response, vision fixed on some figures across the parking lot.

 

“I wouldn’t do that to you, it’s not something I just do,”  Will is hurt and slightly angry, though fear dampens his resolve to voice it.  Yes, he was generally attuned to the emotions of people surrounding him, but what he did with the killers was different.

 

 She looks back to him, a lazy smile on her lips.  “I’m teasing. That’s a hell of a thing you can do. Not sure I’d want it, but damn if it isn’t useful.”

 

Will nods, his nerves still alight. The casual dismissal of any darker implications is more soothing than Will can handle. He looks away, nodding noncommittally.

 

“That being said, it’s your life and if you ever need to tap out, you tell Jack where to stick it,” Beverly’s voice is low and cool.  She drinks slowly, “No one is going to look out for you here, Will.  You know that now, just make sure you don’t forget it.  You’ve got me, but I can’t look out for you and I suspect you wouldn’t that me to even if I could.”

 

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Beverly…but I appreciate it.  I have things under control.” 

 

Will breathes deeply.  She doesn’t tell him anything he doesn’t know, but he appreciates the sentiment. It hasn’t been that long since Quantico. 

 

It’s dark now, and the parking lot is more than a third occupied.

 

Will relaxes.  The warning is unnecessary, but considering the previous conversation track he feels lighter.  Resentment has a tendency to pool within him at the most inopportune moments, but a combination of Beverly’s candidness and the liquor dissuades the action.

 

“No one’s going to ask you about it, at the bar I mean.  Everyone is cool.”

 

“That’s good.”

 

They are tipsy at this point, Will’s previous drink stacking on top of Beverly’s progressively more generous shots and Beverly’s typical low tolerance. The liquor is sweet and dry and inspires casual boldness in her demeanor.

 

“Can I ask you something before we go in? It’s about your empathy thing, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

 

Will shrugs. “You can ask.” She isn’t a psychiatrist so he feels slightly more permissible about the idea.

 

“When you’re having sex-“

 

Will doesn’t bother looking back to respond. “No.”

 

“I’m not done,” she points out.

 

“Nope.”

 

Beverly playfully shoves him, “You didn’t even let me finish, you don’t even know the question.”           

 

Will rolls his eyes, “Trust me, I know the question.”

 

“Yeah, what was it?”

 

Will looks her over then smirks into his can.  She finishes her drink, running her fingers through her hair. She grins and feels warmer. She can see a few of the lab techs making their way to the entrance.

 

“All right, spoilsport. Let’s get in before I offend your virtue.” Beverly exits and Will follows briskly. He hopes the rest of the night won’t feature questions of a similar nature, but noting the potential atmosphere he doubts he’ll be so fortunate.


	3. Chapter 3

They pull into the parking lot of the bar after a mostly quiet car ride.  Beverly’s drumming her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the radio while Will fixes his gaze towards the scenery.  They pull into a secluded spot under some overhanging branches at the back of the parking lot.

 

Will can’t make out any distinguishing features of the bar simply because there aren’t any. An older pine exterior with a built in porch, the place didn’t belie any brand or advertisement.

 

Beverly turns off the engine and drops the keys outside the car lest someone from the bureau got a little too enthusiastically letter of the law on them.

 

“Does this place have a name?”

 

Beverly reaches back to retrieve to cans of Coke from the backseat, “Probably, but I sure as hell don’t know it. Price just said it was off Route 7,” She passes him a can before snapping the tab on hers and drinking heartily.  Will follows suit.

 

“It looks…like a bar?”

 

Beverly shrugs, retrieving a bottle of Jack Daniels from under the seat, “Not nice enough for you, Graham? If you like I think I saw a bar with a name a couple clicks back.”

 

“That’s not what I meant.  It’s fine, its just very…nondescript.” Will gave a half smile and held his can out to her so she could pour a liberal shot of Jack Daniels into it.

 

“For now,” They clink cans and drink, “But at the end of the night, we’ll know this place like the back of our hand.”

 

“Or have it wiped completely from memory.”

 

Beverly smirks. “Someone’s ambitious.”  In the dusk, her features look particularly luminous. Will feels calm around Beverly.  One of the few benefits of his empathy was that he can easily tether onto more emotionally stable people than himself. An ability he was greedily taking advantage of at the moment.

 

“I just realized I really don’t know that much about you beyond your specialty.” Will finally says.

 

Beverly chuckles. “Yeah I guess that’s true. What would you like to know?”

 

Will shrugs. “Anything you want to share really.”

 

“Let’s see…I used to swim competitively, but now I swim for leisure three times a week at the Quantico gym.  I busted up two of my knuckles in my hand during a training exercise after a fellow cadet slammed me into a door. My hands a little knotted, but my aim’s fine.  I go the range a lot., which I think you could guess.  I love popcorn and I hate cats and I bought this whiskey because I thought you’d like it, but really I don’t mind it too much myself.”

 

Beverly’s brandishes her right hand, showing knuckles thick with scar tissue. Almost always hidden in latex gloves, Will notes that Beverly’s hands are delicate despite the previous trauma. Despite slight swells around the third and fourth digit, her hands are unremarkable in their affectation and rather beautiful. 

 

“What do you normally drink?” He presses, temporarily raising his thoughts from her hand.

 

“Gin, sometimes vodka.”

 

“I like the whiskey.”

 

Beverly smiles. “Yeah, me too.”

 

Beverly leans against the door to angle herself more towards Will.  He mirrors the motion and the inside of the car feels simultaneously expansive and claustrophobic.  His gaze remains on her right hand.

 

“I’m sure that’s just a fraction of what you’d get if you ever pulled your magic trick on me. Those are just the highlights.”

 

He looks up.

 

She doesn’t betray a response, vision fixed on some figures across the parking lot.

 

“I wouldn’t do that to you, it’s not something I just do,”  Will is hurt and slightly angry, though fear dampens his resolve to voice it.  Yes, he was generally attuned to the emotions of people surrounding him, but what he did with the killers was different.

 

 She looks back to him, a lazy smile on her lips.  “I’m teasing. That’s a hell of a thing you can do. Not sure I’d want it, but damn if it isn’t useful.”

 

Will nods, his nerves still alight. The casual dismissal of any darker implications is more soothing than Will can handle. He looks away, nodding noncommittally.

 

“That being said, it’s your life and if you ever need to tap out, you tell Jack where to stick it,” Beverly’s voice is low and cool.  She drinks slowly, “No one is going to look out for you here, Will.  You know that now, just make sure you don’t forget it.  You’ve got me, but I can’t look out for you and I suspect you wouldn’t that me to even if I could.”

 

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Beverly…but I appreciate it.  I have things under control.” 

 

Will breathes deeply.  She doesn’t tell him anything he doesn’t know, but he appreciates the sentiment. It hasn’t been that long since Quantico. 

 

It’s dark now, and the parking lot is more than a third occupied.

 

Will relaxes.  The warning is unnecessary, but considering the previous conversation track he feels lighter.  Resentment has a tendency to pool within him at the most inopportune moments, but a combination of Beverly’s candidness and the liquor dissuades the action.

 

“No one’s going to ask you about it, at the bar I mean.  Everyone is cool.”

 

“That’s good.”

 

They are tipsy at this point, Will’s previous drink stacking on top of Beverly’s progressively more generous shots and Beverly’s typical low tolerance. The liquor is sweet and dry and inspires casual boldness in her demeanor.

 

“Can I ask you something before we go in? It’s about your empathy thing, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

 

Will shrugs. “You can ask.” She isn’t a psychiatrist so he feels slightly more permissible about the idea.

 

“When you’re having sex-“

 

Will doesn’t bother looking back to respond. “No.”

 

“I’m not done,” she points out.

 

“Nope.”

 

Beverly playfully shoves him, “You didn’t even let me finish, you don’t even know the question.”           

 

Will rolls his eyes, “Trust me, I know the question.”

 

“Yeah, what was it?”

 

Will looks her over then smirks into his can.  She finishes her drink, running her fingers through her hair. She grins and feels warmer. She can see a few of the lab techs making their way to the entrance.

 

“All right, spoilsport. Let’s get in before I offend your virtue.” Beverly exits and Will follows briskly. He hopes the rest of the night won’t feature questions of a similar nature, but noting the potential atmosphere he doubts he’ll be so fortunate.

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Well, I didn’t think this many people would show up,” Beverly observes.

 

The bar is dingy and packed with people.  Beverly assesses the crowd; the inhabitants are evenly spliced between rural patrons from neighboring towns, FBI agents and staff, and less than reputable looking patrons. 

 

The first thing that strikes Will is the volume of the bar. The air’s pierced with passionate cheers, run of the mills overlaps of conversation, and the crackly rock soundtrack of a jukebox. Instant regret laps at his mind as he realizes the voices have to come from somewhere as he notes that platitude of patrons. 

 

Scanning quickly, Will recognizes a few faces from crime scenes. Beverly recognizes more.  Stepping into the bar, he feels his pulse quicken.  It’s been a long time since he’s been to a drinking establishment of any kind, the atmosphere tends to make his empathy go haywire. 

 

“There are quite a few…”

 

Beverly notices Will’s strained expression, and smiles brightly before grabbing his hand and leading him through the crowd.  Will feels vaguely like he’s back in high school.

 

“Katz!”

 

Halfway through her search of the bar, Beverly halts, turning to see who called her name.  Will bumps into her, catching a whiff of citrus. 

 

“Over here!”

 

Brian Zeller flags her down from a booth.  He’s sitting with Jimmy Price.  Both are dressed fashionably casual, appearing to be the more well-dressed men in the bar without being ostentatious. Brian’s wearing a slate button down and slacks,  Jimmy, a sky blue dress shirt with jeans.  The table has three empty glasses and a half full beer. Will wonders how long they’ve been here. 

 

“Hey guys.” Beverly greets them, releasing her Will’s hand from her own.

 

“Will Graham!” Brian exclaims, sliding out of the booth to envelop Will in a bear hug.  Will laughs nervously, falling back with the motion.  Brian has a few pounds over him and probably a few beers at this point.

“He may have been drinking,” Jimmy comments drily,

 

“Pull up a chair,” Brian says.

 

Beverly laughs. “If you insist.” She slides into the booth next to Jimmy and Will sits opposite of her next to Brian.  The booth is upholstered in a mottled green fabric and is in impressively comfortable, Will moves to rest his hands on the table before realizing there is already a sticky film of spilled beverages.  Beverly grins as Will decides to rests his hands on his knees instead.

 

“It’s good to see you,” Jimmy says addressing both of them, but looking at Will.  Jimmy has a tendency to speak wryly and his tongue is as sharp as his analysis.  They had different specialties, but it didn’t stop Will from feeling vaguely intimidated in his presence at times.  Jimmy looks completely at home in the bar, despite the contrast between himself and the other occupants.

 

“Beverly came and got me,” Will offers, glancing around the table hesitantly.  No one has caught his eye for some time, despite the influx of FBI patrons.

 

“You’re welcome.” She smiles at him across the table. “How’s the night been so far. Give me a report.”

 

“There are enough FBI people to hear to investigate…maybe two murders?” Brian offers.

 

“Or three arsons,” Jimmy adds.

 

“More like five,” Brian counters.

 

Beverly leans over to Jimmy faux-conspiratorially. “Is Lisa here?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Who’s Lisa?” Will inquires, still surveying the scene. He spots a group of his students in the corner, angling his body away from them he hopes that his position as a teacher will afford him some respectful distance should one of them spot him.

 

“She’s an Arsons expert with the BAU.  She’s got an eye for accelerants like nobody else in the department.  Zeller has a crush on her,” Jimmy explains.

 

Brian swats at him, “Please yell that. It’s like you don’t even want me to have a chance.”

 

“Chill out, she’s not going to hear us.  It’s not as if we’re in a crowded bar or anything.” Beverly reminds him, giving a friendly nod to a passing couple Will thinks he saw at the firing range once or twice.

 

“She’s incredibly witty. I can’t just go up to her without anything prepared.”

 

“Are you going to write a speech? I don’t remember getting a speech.”

 

Beverly, mid sip, laughs, choking on her drink.  Jimmy pats her back in response and Bryan gives him a knowing look and Will can’t tell if it’s supposed to be admonishing or warning in content.

 

“These things take time,” Will is fond of offering advice he wished he had taken. Brian looks at him with brotherhood.

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Spoken like someone who goes home alone,” Beverly comments.

 

A waitress arrives at the table.

 

“What can I get for you, folks?”

 

Her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head and she looks like she’s had all of four hours of sleep for the week.  She’s pretty, despite her fatigue, and manages to serve them with surprising acuity.

 

Will orders a whiskey on the rocks, Jimmy orders a round of tequila shots and a vodka martini, Brian orders a pint of lager and another round of tequila shots, and Beverly orders a whiskey and Coke. The waitress memorizes their orders with practiced ease and departs to the next table.

 

“Tequila?” Beverly whines.

 

“And you’re going to drink it,” Jimmy says. “You up to the challenge, Will?”

           

Confident in his in his drinking abilities, Will nods his head. “I think I can handle it,”

 

“Good man.”

 

“Someone’s going to have to hold my hair later. Just so you guys know,” Beverly informs them.

 

The shots arrive along with their drinks.  Will covers a tip that is borderline unreasonably generous.  The waitress pockets it and departs, flashing him a tired smile before resuming her other tables.

 

“Shall we get this started?” Brian inquires, dividing up the shot glasses so each person has two tequila shots before them. 

           

“Salt and lime?” Beverly inquires.

           

“I’ll go get it.” Will ducks away from the table, desiring a better grasp of the layout of the bar as much as to be a helpful drinking companion.  Someone recognizes him, but he ignores it, moving swiftly towards the bar.  He snags the attention of the bartender and returns to the booth with limes and a salt shaker in tow.

 

Everyone lines up their lime wedge and delicately sprinkles salt onto their wrist.

 

“Ready?”

 

Everyone nods.

 

“To Jack Crawford, our favorite captain and despot! Long may he reign the BAU and our lives!” Brian declares.  They hoist their shots in the air, before hastily licking the salt, drinking the shot and biting into the lime wedges with vigor.  The process is messy as it often is and Will can’t remember the last time he even drank tequila.

 

The lime and tequila are tangy and sour down Will’s throat.  Beverly scrunches her face across the table and Jimmy performs the ritual with eerie neatness.  Will suspects he may have the edge on maintaining his composure during the night.  Brian, on the other hand, loses a few drops on the table though his shirt is blessedly stain free.

 

“Let me know when you’re ready for the next ones,”  Jimmy announces, toying with his empty shot glass.  Will smirks at his bravado. It isn’t entirely surprising considering his personality at work.

 

“Bring it,” Beverly barks, despite her previous objections.

 

“Let’s do it,” Brian agrees.

 

Jimmy nods, “To Quantico and FBI, till death do us part, and the twenty weeks I spent celibate in training.”

 

Beverly lifts her shot, “To busting my hand and taking the firearm examination four days later.”

 

“To staying awake during all of Professor Harris’s forensic entymology lectures while hungover as hell,” Brian added, hoisting his shot.

 

“To long days and longer nights,” Will finishes.

 

They toast in agreement and drop their shots.  The second shot burns less that the first and Will savors the taste. He relaxes back in the booth and resumes his people watching, his ears attuned to the conversation at the table.


	5. Chapter 5

“So Will, do you have a thing on the go or are you on the prowl like the rest of us jackals?” Brian asks.

 

Will says, avoiding the curious glances at the table in favor of one of the beer placards on the wall, “I am of the singular persuasion at the moment.”  He doesn’t add “because of reasons of mental instability or by virtue of being patently undesirable by nature” though the thought echoes in his head.

 

“We can fix that,” Brian assures him, completely unfazed.

 

“What’s your poison? Let’s see if we can’t all ring cherries tonight,” Jimmy says, scanning the room and sipping his martini.

 

“Hold your horses, Price. Knowing you, you’ll disappear with someone in the next ten minutes and we won’t see you for the rest of the night.”

 

“I am that charming.” Price assures them, eyeing over a particularly attractive brunet across the bar

 

“I think she meant slutty.” Brian says over his drink.

 

“Thanks, Brian. I caught that.”

 

“We can play a drinking game?”  Will offers.

           

“I like that idea.” Beverly agrees.

 

“Might I suggest a game of Prime Suspect?”  

 

“Jesus, are we that drunk already?” Brian moans.

 

“We have to. It’s been ages since we last played.  You did so miserably last time, do you remember?”

 

“Yes, Katz. My long term memory of that night is still functional. Thanks for the reminder though. God, I thought I was going to die that night.”

 

“Prime Suspect?”  

 

Beverly slides her drink to the side, leaning over the table to explain.  Beverly and her lovingly clingy tank top and her intoxicating lack of self-consciousness.  Will swallows and tries to ignore the view of her décolletage in front of him and focuses on her mouth instead.  It’s the safer option.

 

“It’s FBI truth or dare essentially.  Going around the table counter clockwise, each person takes a turn being the accuser.  The accuser arrests someone at the table as a prime suspect in a criminal investigation.  Boys, an example if you please.”  Beverly commands, leaning back and spinning a finger in the air.

 

Price takes another sip of his martini, mulling over his options.  Deciding on something appropriate to the circumstances, he states. “This son of a bitch has three unpaid parking tickets.”

 

Brian quirks an eyebrow. “Parking tickets, really?”

 

Jimmy shrugs, leisurely eying the cut of the other man’s shirt.  “You aren’t as exciting as murder and all that.  It’s a compliment.”

 

“Thanks man, your support means the world.”

 

“No problem.”

 

“When you’re accused of a crime, like Zeller is, you have two choices.  Investigation, where you have to find-“

 

“Steal or temporarily misappropriate.” Brian interrupts.

 

“A piece of evidence to exonerate yourself.  Either a phone number, default alibi, or a piece of key evidence specified by the Accuser.  Little knickknacks usually like keys, lipstick, that sort of thing.”

 

“Stuff you can find on people in bars, basically” Brian adds.

 

“In this case, what would Brian need to find to prove his innocence?”

 

“A checkbook.”

 

“Okay, so without buying or telling anyone about the game, Brian would have to return with a checkbook or someone’s phone number, again not someone he knows, to ‘win’ his investigation.”

 

“You have fifteen minutes to find evidence or get an alibi.”  Price says.

 

“If you can prove a solid alibi with a phone number or pick up the evidence, you skip interrogation and are ‘released’ and we move on to the next crime.  If not, you go to interrogation where you have suffer a round of personal questioning. Some people, like Price are amazing at interrogation, whereas other people, like me, excel at investigation.  You pick to your strengths or, more likely, to how reckless and drunk you are at the time of your ‘arrest’.” 

 

Beverly takes another sip of her drink, smiling over the rim of it, watching Will as he turns to listen intently to Jimmy’s turn at explanation.  He catches her glance, and smiles back at her, despite looking somewhat overwhelmed.

 

“The goal of the interrogation round, like any real interrogation is to keep a poker face.  If you don’t answer the questions honestly and promptly, you’re going to look pretty suspicious.”

 

“The questions are almost universally awful.” Brian stresses, putting a comforting hand on Will’s shoulder. Will finds he doesn’t mind the friendly liberties Brian is taking with physical contact despite himself .“I hope you don’t have any embarrassing sex stories, because those come out _fast_.” 

 

Will laughs, “That’s reassuring.”

 

“If the table feels like you’re not being forward enough or are concealing information you have to lawyer up.”

 

“And who, pray tell, is my ‘lawyer’ in this scenario?” Will ventures, looking from one face to the next at the table.  Each of their expressions betray a certain amusement that should have told Will that the ‘lawyer’ is be someone you really didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night with a drunk phone call.  He isn’t disappointed

 

“Jack, obviously.” Beverly answers.

 

“You’re joking.”

 

“I wish I was.”

 

“You have to call him and say ‘Jack. I’m in trouble. I think I need a lawyer.’” Brian clarifies.

 

“Those exact words?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“And you’ve actually done it? You’re pulling my leg.” Will says in disbelief, waiting for someone to assure him that this was actually a joke and not an actual death defying practice in the BAU.  Jack was a great man, but he wasn’t known for his sense of humor let alone any tolerance for mischief on the part of any of his staff.

 

“Sure have. Can’t say he was too happy the first time…or the second…really any time I call he’s less than impressed.” Brian says, finishing his beer and sliding the empty glass to edge of the table.

 

“It’s Price’s rule. Funny coincidence, guess who’s never had to lawyer up.”  Beverly adds, knocking Jimmy’s elbow with her own.

 

“Of course, I take all credit for the heartfelt conversations between all of my FBI darlings and Jack Crawford as a result of my ingenuity.”

 

“You want me to relay that information to him?” Brian challenges.

 

“Up to you. You’re the one whose going to be calling him in half an hour”  Jimmy says coolly, sipping from his drink.  Brian laughs, knowing full well his track record in games of Prime Suspect is terrible at best.  On the job talent translated incredibly poorly into prime suspect acumen as he had discovered on multiple occasions.

 

“Okay, I think I’ve got it. You’ll have to easy on me though. First time and all.”

 

“We’ll be gentle.”

 

“Zeller will be gentle, Beverly will rend the secrets from your very soul.” Price corrects Brian.

 

Beverly beams at him from across the table, slouching back in her seat “You get to start, champ.”

 

“Mhmm. Pick your target and ruin their lives with the penetrating eye of the law.” Brian gestures around the table dramatically.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Beverly,” Will begins, “killed my grandmother last night…with a hatchet.”

 

“She didn’t” Brian gasps, clutching his chest.

 

“She did.”

 

“She always seemed like such a nice girl…” Jimmy reminisces fondly, swirling his drink in his hand.

 

Beverly cracks her neck, “I’ll take investigation. What do I need get me off the hook?”

 

Will strongly considers handing her an easy task, but appraising her self-satisfied grin he also wants to put one over her.  An opportunity to interrogate Beverly shouldn’t squandered.

 

“Let’s go with a bottle of red wine, Malbec.  A housewarming gift for your dear friend Janine on the night of the murder.”

 

“Malbec, eh?”

 

“You have a refined taste, what can I say?”

           

Beverly quirks an eyebrow.

 

Jimmy flourishes his wrist to check his watch. It’s a tasteful silver number. “You have fifteen minutes starting…now.”

 

Beverly winks at Will before slipping out of the booth, weaving her way to the bar.  Will watches her.  Soon only fragments of her form are visible within the throng.

           

Brian signals for the waitress, “What’s the bet for Katz coming back empty handed?”

           

“She’ll come back with something, thought I doubt it’ll be a bottle of Malbec. Twenty bucks.” Jimmy fixes his gaze on Will, studying him idly.

 

“I’ll see that bet.” Brian turns to Will, “Are you going to slam her on a technicality? For a first timer you play pretty hard, Graham.”

 

“If it’s here she’ll find it.” Will says.  The crowd parts for an instant and he catches a glimpse of  Beverly as she sizes up her access to the wine selection.  Two bartenders are working and though they are incredibly busy, it is unlikely Beverly can get past them without a distraction.

 

Beverly assesses the situation. Fifteen minutes isn’t long enough to talk someone into buying a bottle for her, so stealing looks like the only feasible option.  The bar set up is too confined for a suitable distraction, considering she doesn’t want to break anything or start a fight.  She bites her lip, thinking practically, and  reluctantly realizes the bar is a no go.

 

Will’s eyes follow her as she breaks for the other side of the bar.

 

Brian orders them another round of the usual, excluding Beverly.

 

“How much time does she have?”

 

Jimmy checks his watch. “Six and a half minutes on the dot.”

 

“So is Beverly also on the ‘prowl’?” Will asks, going for nonchalance while scanning the crowd once more for Beverly’s long absent figure.

 

“I knew it.” Brian exclaims, slamming an emphatic hand on the table, “I knew you had it for Katz!”

 

“I do not ‘have it’ for Katz” Will corrects him, flustered, after taking a quick surveillance glance around the table.  Will can feel the blush growing to his cheeks and  he privately thanks god for stubble and low lighting. “I was just asking-“

 

“Out of curiosity?” Jimmy supplies.           

 

“Yeah.” Will accedes, awkwardly.

 

Brian is looking at Will with this horrifyingly indulgent smile and for a moment Will contemplates bribing Brian to wear a paper bag over his head for the rest of the night.  Brian is just about to comment further when Jimmy kicks him sharply under the table.  Brian howls, clutching his shin under the table.

 

“What was that for-“

 

“Back!” Beverly yells, sliding back into the booth with alarming speed, wine bottle in hand.

 

“All hail the conquering hero,” Jimmy cheers, throwing an arm over Beverly’s shoulder.  She plunks a dark green bottle down in the middle of the table.

 

“I’m going to need a public apology,” Beverly proclaims, “I want see my exoneration on the front page of the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal. Hell, I want to see it on TattleCrime.com, too”

 

Will grabs the bottle in hand to examine it.  It is in fact a bottle of Malbec, still corked.  He runs his thumb along line along the label.

 

“How the hell did you find this?” He asks, his brow furrowed at her feat.

 

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.  Also, I can’t go to that side of the bar for a little while.”

 

Brian and Jimmy laugh and Will gives Beverly an incredulous look before handing her back the bottle.

 

Beverly smiles brightly in victory and Brian takes the role of the Accuser.

 

“Jimmy burnt down a church, just torched it. During a midnight mass, no less.”

 

Across the table, Jimmy shakes with silent laughter.

 

“I could see it.” Beverly sips her drink

 

“What do you mean ‘you could see it’?” Jimmy inquires, composing himself.

 

“You get mean when you’re hungry.  Setting a small religious establishment alight in between meals doesn’t seem like that big of a jump.” Beverly turns to Brian “You should make him find a rosary.”

 

“Tempting, but it’s Price on trial here. He’s probably going to punk out the investigation and pick interrogation like he does every other time we play.”

 

“In my defense, I’m very good at interrogation.” Jimmy clarifies to Will.  Will finds this claim neither mystifying nor arrogant.  As an old friend of Jack’s, Jimmy has a sensibility around people that is difficult to imitate.  He has an uncanny talent for molding himself imperceptibly around others while remaining unapologetically Jimmy Price.

 

“You also don’t like moving.” Beverly adds.

 

“Another facet of what makes me a flawless prime suspect in interrogations.  I am blessed with the ability to remain completely stationary during questioning.”

 

“Am I right or am I right?” Brian asks.

 

“Interrogate away.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Where’s the weirdest place you’ve ever had sex?” Beverly asks, grabbing the wine bottle off the table to conceal it at her thigh as the waitress walks by the table.  The waitress, thankfully, doesn’t see it and Will wonders once more by what means she obtained her prize.

 

“Barber shop.”

 

“Was it good?”

 

“He fucked better than he cut hair. Afterward, I ended up having to go somewhere else to get it neatened up.  He left the sides a bit too long for my liking.”  Will is semi-stunned by Jimmy’s candid response, but unaffected expressions on Beverly and Brian’s faces indicate little surprise.  Jimmy’s voice doesn’t change as he answers and there is no hesitation in it in the least.

 

“Did you tip extra?”

 

“I tipped before we had sex.  Prostitution is a crime, Beverly.”  She rolls her eyes at his faux reprimand.

 

“What’s the second weirdest place?”

 

“Funeral parlor.”

 

“Before, during, or after the funeral?” Beverly pushes.

 

“Before, and then during.  It wasn’t planned obviously, but no one in the family noticed so,” Price shrugs.

 

“Did you think of the dead guy when you were doing it?”

 

“Woman, and no I didn’t. I try to not to make a habit of fantasizing about the dead when I’m having sex.  Though some of the bodies have been in particularly good form…”

 

Beverly shrugs, giving up. “Well, the suspect clearly has no shame.  Officer Zeller, care to take the reigns?”

 

“Gladly.” Brian turns to face Price. “Tonight I break you.”

 

Jimmy smirks. “Is that so?”

 

“What’s the most depraved kink you’ve ever indulged someone in bed?” Brian asks it with haughty assuredness that Jimmy won’t answer.

 

“That’s a tough one.” Price muses.  “I once had a girlfriend who really like being tied up, though we weren’t together for very long. Probably the most scandalous thing I indulged was an ex’s fondness for cross-dressing.”

 

“Cross dressing like they cross-dressed or cross dressing like you cross-dressed?”

 

“The latter.”

 

“What did you have to wear?”

 

“Lacy panties, stockings, garters.  Typical lingerie fair.”

 

“Did you like it?”

 

Jimmy shrugs. “At the time.  It’s a very sexy aesthetic, although a little too high maintenance for my tastes.  I’m more appreciative of it on other people than on myself.”

 

“Still have any of the clothes?”

 

“All of them actually. It’s quite expensive clothing if you shop for quality.”

 

“Okay, okay.  Now what’s the most depraved kink you’ve ever asked someone to indulge you in bed?”

 

Jimmy pauses for a moment, and Will isn’t sure if it’s a product of trepidation or consideration.

 

“I don’t know if you want me to answer that given the present company.”

 

Brian is flustered for all of six seconds.

 

“You can’t invoke that.”

 

Jimmy shrugs.  “Too much of an answer?”

 

Will shoots Beverly a confused glance and she shrugs and takes a pull of Jimmy’s drink, watching Brian’s reaction.  To his credit he remains incredibly well composed while shooting Price a dirty look.

 

“You win this time.”

 

“I figured.”  Jimmy sips from his martini, and Will swears he catches him winking at Zeller.  Someone is kicked under the table.  Beverly has a pretty good idea of who, though she studies Will across the table and notes he’s taking the barely hidden sexual innuendo/tension/whatever it is between his colleagues fairly well.  His body language is slightly hazy and amongst the clutter of the bar he almost looks comfortable.

 

“Alright, Will. You’re our last chance.  Bust him or he’s free to torch again.” Beverly states,  grabbing his hand to emphasize the seriousness of it all. Will takes small pleasure in the brief contact.  He looks over to Price, who is looking more triumphant by the minute, and contemplates what he could say to trip him up.

 

Sex is out, obviously.  Will doesn’t have a lot of background on him beyond knowing his seniority and that Jack holds him in high esteem considering the years they’ve spent working with each other.  He decides he’ll exploit in his questioning.  Price may not have an issue airing out personal information, but something tells Will that he’ll be less forward when discussing an esteemed colleague.

 

“Ever question one of Jack’s decision?”

 

Brian laughs and Beverly lips quirk up at the mention of their boss.  It’s not a foreign subject of questioning in the game, but usually Brian’s on the receiving end and is more than willing to express his raucous opinions freely.

 

“I have.” Jimmy says briskly, and Will knows he’s hit pay dirt.

 

“Care to elaborate?”

 

“Can you be more specific?”  Jimmy isn’t being prickly, he’s being cautious.  Although he prides himself on being composed, he realizes any questions about Jack put him in dangerous territory.  He respects the man, though like many people under him, has had reason to second guess some of the man’s judgments.

 

“In the last four months has he done anything that you’ve taken particular offense to?”

 

The subject is requires a sensitive touch and Will is careful to exclude his inclusion onto the team, which occurred a month shy of his deadline.

 

Jimmy swirls his drink idly, meeting no one’s eyes at the table. “I questioned the necessity of exposing the body of Nicholas Boyle to Abigail Hobbs.  It entailed a degree of theatricality I find entirely unnecessary to our profession.” Jimmy drinks. “I also don’t care for that camel coat he’s taken to wearing.”

 

The second statement removes some of the graveness from the first and Will is the first to let out an exasperated laugh.  Tension dissipates and Will takes the hint, though he is now curious as too how much word gets around in the BAU about such things and what more of Price’s opinions may be. “You don’t care for it?”

 

“What’s wrong with the coat?” Brian asks.

 

“Camel is an awful color. Even on a man like Jack it yells blasé home decor.  Taupe is iconic, camel is a refuge for the colorblind.”

 

Beverly looks at him dumbstruck. “Did you just insinuate Jack was colorblind? Remind me to bring that up at the next briefing.” She laughs. 

 

“What’s the difference?” Brian asks blithely and Price arches an eyebrow.

 

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.  Any more questions?

 

“Not that I can think of.  I regret to inform you we have to find you innocent on all charges.” Will assesses.

 

“Not that he’s innocent in the slightest.” Brian counters. “But at least he skirts the consequences of his crime yet again.”  Price toasts him from across the table and Brian waves a hand with deferential flourish.

 

They are about to start the next round when Will spots a familiar pattern flitting through the crowd. She moves into a group of equally fashionable people, conversing, and with a  turn of her dark hair, Will is sure of her identity.

 

“I’ll be right back.” He finds himself standing up too quickly, and weaving his way to the crowd.  When she turns at his touch, her smile is too big and her cheeks rosy.

 


	8. Chapter 8

“Will!” She exclaims at a decibel a fraction too loud for the bar atmosphere.

 

“Alana!” He answers, finding in himself a similar drunk volume, echoing her greeting.

 

“I didn’t know you were coming out!”

 

He has to laugh as he absentmindedly runs a hand through his hair. Standing before him is Dr Alana Bloom, renowned professor of psychology and Georgetown University and trusted protégé of Dr. Hannibal Lector, and she is more than slightly inebriated before him. 

 

Alana sways slightly in her heels, and grabs his arm with the leisurely abandon only a few pints can achieve.  Will turns to look at the company she was disturbing her from, recognizing a blonde woman from an conference he’s failing to remember now.  They resume conversation and to Alana they are all but forgotten. She beams at him.  She’s wearing a sultry wrap dress patterned with scales ranging from lapis to inky blue-black in coloring. 

 

“How long have you been here?”

 

“I don’t know. Awhile.” She grins. “You?”

 

“About an hour and a half. I’m sitting with the forensics team.”   Will’s invites her to join them.  Alana doesn’t give her present company it a second thought, or even a first under Will’s appraisal, and taking her hand he leads her through the crowds back to the booth.

 

“Dr. Bloom,” Zeller exclaims, “You’re a vision this evening,.”

 

“I was wondering when you would show. Please join us.” Price comments warmly, raising a glass to her in greeting.

 

“Hey lady,” Beverly smiles, greeting her fondly, sliding out to hug the other woman, “How are you?”

 

“Beverly,” Alana echoes happily, hugging her tightly before pulling back, “I’m good, you look fantastic tonight.” Alana compliments, dropping her hands to her hips and pulling back to look Beverly’s figure up and down. Beverly laughs, her hands resting on Alana’s.

 

“It’s just jeans and a tank top, nothing major.”

 

“No. No, you look fantastic. Right?” Alana turns to the group with conviction, demonstrating Beverly in her arm.

 

Brian waggles his eyebrows suggestively and Price makes mention of Beverly’s ability to look devastatingly attractive in safety goggles while Will searches for an acceptable dialogue option that doesn’t betray too much sentiment.

 

He settles on a safe compliment, “You look great.”

 

Alana beams, happy that its been agreed upon and Beverly gives Will a lopsided grin.  They file back into the booth, Brian moving further in so Alana can sit next to Will.

 

“Who were you talking to over there?” Will glances over to Alana’s previous company.

 

“Colleagues, a few psychiatrists, some psychology professors, the usual circles.  I didn’t think so many people would be here tonight.  Jimmy didn’t tell me half of the FBI would show up.”  Alana waves her hand emphatically and Jimmy grins, shrugging.

           

“I honestly had no idea that drinks with the team were going to turn into drinks with everyone.  Though, it does make the place all the more lively.”

 

“Agreed.” Brian observed, surveying the crowd. “I think there are enough of us that we outnumber the potential criminal contingent which is always reassuring.”

 

Alana snorts and Will can’t help nudging her and whispering conspiratorially.  

 

“Careful Alana, they might suspect you’ve been drinking tonight.”

 

“You think?”

 

She laughs in her hands, her eyes sparkling.  Alana is always beautiful, but there is something incredibly endearing in her mirth at the moment that Will feels a pang of regret.  They haven’t spoken about that night, or the subsequent conversation since. Will interpreted it as a kind rejection, rather than any serious invitation to encourage pursuit.

 

“Alana, you’re lucky. You caught us in the middle of a top secret FBI drinking game.”

 

“Incredibly confidential. I don’t even know if you can legally stay for it.” Price says.

 

“I don’t know. She didn’t go to Quantico…” Beverly teases.

 

“Yeah, we might have to call Jack on this one.” Will hedges, rubbing his neck with faux concern.

 

Alana regards them all incredulously.

 

“I may not have gone to Quantico, but I’ll have you know I teach at Georgetown College and we have our own drinking game.” Alana responds surprising eloquence, raising her pint for dramatic effect.

 

“Well then, Georgetown.  What is the official drinking game of your beloved institution?” Will asks, tracing the lip of his empty glass with his index finger.  Zeller, Price, and Beverly are giggling to themselves, and Will’s fighting his urge to join in.  Alana arches a proud eyebrow, gazing at them with the wanton wisdom of the  inebriated.

 

“I can’t explain it now. Because it’s too long and I may have already had a few beers, but trust me, if I can handle Georgetown drinking I can handle whatever you special agents can dish out.”

 

“I have no doubt,” Price concedes. “Especially since this is game you play while drunk instead of a literal drinking game.  Though sometime we’ll need to put your Georgetown drinking game to the test.”

 

“I’d like to get in on that.” Zeller adds, raising a hand.

 

“Me too,” Beverly joins, Will also finds himself joining the impromptu plan to get wasted Georgetown style at a later date.

 

Alana brushes her hair from her face, pleased, and Beverly beckons her over to explain the rules of Prime Suspect.  Alana moves across the table to hear the rules more clearly, bobbing her head in agreement every now and then.  Will flags a waitress and orders another whiskey.

 

“How are you doing, Graham?” Price asks over Beverly and Alana’s exchange.

 

“I’m doing well.”

 

“Glad you came out, man. Too much time on crime scenes makes Will a dull boy and all that.  You should come out with us more often.” Brian adds, serious for a moment, squeezing his shoulder affectionately.

 

“Thanks.” Will answers, venturing temporary eye contact, as the waitress brings him a whiskey along with a particularly flamboyant mixed cocktail. It’s an alarming shade of red garnished with raspberries skewered on a pink plastic sword. She sets both of them down on the center of the table.

 

“Bold choice.” Price comments, eyeing the beverage.

 

“Not mine.” Will mutters slightly confused. He catch the waitress’s attention, before she gets out of earshot. “Excuse me, I didn’t order this.”

 

“Courtesy of the lady.” She explains, nodding towards the bar.

 

“Someone has an admirer.” Beverly teases.

 

Will flushes slightly, but it dissipates as soon as he sees his ‘admirer’.

 

Freddie Lounds raises her glass at him from across the room, perched at the bar, smiling at him with leisurely insincerity befitting a head cheerleader. The woman is always dressed to kill and this evening isn’t an exception. The neon lights behind the bar halo her a copper curls. .

 

Alana follows Will’s gaze to the intended target as do the rest of the group.

 

“Seriously?” Beverly says. “How the hell would she even know about tonight?”

 

“I think she has a crush on you. What is this, the fourth time she’s tracked you down? Price asks Will, his voice dripping with disdain. Price has always been vocal in his dislike for tattlecrime.com and it’s sensationalist reporting. Freddie Lounds has crossed his path too many times for his liking and at a certain point in his career he lost any sympathy he had for those in her vocation. 

 

Zeller is silent on the issue.

 

Alana’s facial expression is unreadable, but Will can read the lines of her body language like an open book. Alana doesn’t indulge her flight reflex often, and her body tenses for combat, verbal or otherwise, more often than not. Will has seen her on the verge of fury and though he can feel the slow seething affect of Freddie himself, he’s more worried about Alana’s reaction. Alana reaches for the cocktail, transferring the sword to Beverly’s possession.

 

“May I?”

 

“Go ahead.” Will gestures, feigning nonchalance that is foreign to him in the moment. Freddie has an impeccable gift of raising his blood pressure by virtue of mere proximity. However, his attention remains on Alana’s irritated figure.            

 

Everyone watches as she throws her head back and finishes the martini.

 

“Thirsty, Alana?” Beverly says, before sliding the raspberries of the sword with her teeth, watching her companion with interest.

 

“I believe that was for Will.” Brian adds, weakly.

 

“I’ll be right back.” Alana says, setting the empty glass on the table.  She exits the booth.  Will’s about to follow her when Beverly snags his arm, halting his pursuit.

 

“Let Alana can handle it.”

 

Beverly’s tone doesn’t brook an argument and though Will wants to pursue he recognizes the dangers in doing so. Will’s concerns for Alana’s actions are greatly overshadowed by fears for his own.  Freddie has made no secret about her vendetta against him and Will has trouble concealing his most vehement objections to her character during the most ideal circumstances. Beverly is right to restrain him, though a less reasonable part of him wants to indulge his malice, regardless of consequence.

 

He concedes, slumping back into his chair.  Will’s eyes follow Alana up until she meets Freddie and the crowds surround them, shrouding them from his

observation.


	9. Chapter 9

“Freddie” Alana calls. Freddie directs her gaze to the impassioned woman approaching her.

 

“The fetching doctor Bloom. How are you this evening?”

 

“What are you doing?” Everything about her, from the tone of her voice to the set of her stance, indicates ‘proceed with caution’.  Freddie registers the warning and immediately disregards it. Alana glowers at her with more than some degree of heat, her cheeks flushed either with liquor or passion, it’s difficult to tell at the moment.

           

“Did you enjoy the drink? You drank it fast enough.” Her eyes are bright and watchful, languidly roaming Alana’s distraught features.

           

“Freddie.” Alana won’t be distracted, repeating the inquiry. “What are you doing?”

           

“Getting your attention.”

 

‘Attention’ has never an issue for the Tattlecrime founder, she had arrested Alana’s attention the moment she had stepped into the bar. Dozens of eyes follow her movements, tracking the curious woman with clothing decidedly more ornate and sultry than the average patron. Freddie already had her attention, what she wanted, more succinctly, was her company.

           

“And that’s all?”

           

“It’s not my fault Mr. Graham jumped to the wrong conclusions. The drink was intended for you.” The sidestep is lazy. Freddie cares very little for justifying her actions. Less so for Will’s emotional wellbeing.

           

“And it’s not Will’s fault he assumed you were trying to intimidate him. What was he supposed to think?”

           

“Would you prefer it if I had come over myself?” Freddie asks, pointedly. She casts a glance over to the booth, spotting the forensics team deep in conversation for a brief moment as the crowds parted.  Will is staring in their direction, though his view of them was unreliable at best.

           

Alana looks away, her arms breaking from their crossed stance, her posture softening. The answer is an unspoken ‘no’ and they both know it. Freddie doesn’t enjoy the sudden polarization of power as much as she expects to. Freddie interprets Alana’s silence as an encouragement to continue so she does.

 

“I was under the impression that you be spending at least some of your time with me tonight.” Freddie comments coolly, turning away from Alana’s gaze to signal the bartender.  Alana is drunk, but the drop in temperature doesn’t escape her. Freddie gets prickly when she feels ignored and Alana knows her well enough not to indulge her egotistical tendencies.

 

“You don’t get to be a brat because I’m not going to let you harangue my friend when you should be haranguing me.” Alana reasons, resting her chin on Freddie’s shoulder, her hands circling her waist. “Besides, you’re the one who was gone when I woke up.  I was going to make breakfast.”

 

Freddie laughs, a low throaty sound, and Alana can feel the iciness receding. “Were you now?”

 

“Of course. Two bowls of Cheerios. I even had blueberries I could have thrown in.” Freddie smirks to herself, Alana’s techniques of disarmament prove successful more often than not, this instance is no exception. Her left hand drifts over Alana’s around her middle as she extends the right for a refill.

 

The bartender approaches at Freddie’s signal, refilling her glass with one of the pumps.             

 

“Thank you.” Freddie says, smiling coyly. “And please put anything she orders on my tab.”

           

“Freddie.” Alana chastises. Freddie likes to spend money. A lot of money. Alana prefers covering her own costs, having her own considerable income from teaching, but she’s realized since their first few interview dinners that the issue of paying is one on which Freddie will not budge. She always pays.           

           

“No one will know. Order yourself drink before I do it for you.”

           

“I’ll have a pint of the dark beer on tap.” She orders, before turning to Freddie. “What are you drinking?”

           

“Ginger ale. I’m driving tonight.”

           

Freddie offers her a sip and Alana takes the glass, carbonation bubbling at her lips, surveying the crowd around them. There aren’t many FBI personnel near Freddie’s section of the bar and Alana wonders how extensive her reputation is at the bureau.  Tattlecrime, despite it’s intentionally tabloid-esque formatting, is a formidable media presence. She wouldn’t be surprised if Freddie’s presence is raising more than just Will’s hackles.

           

“I can give you a ride home later, if you need one.” Freddie adds.

           

“My home or yours?”

           

Freddie smiles a crooked grin. “Either. I can take you where you want to go.”

           

“I like the sound of that.”

           

The bartender returns with Alana’s pint. It’s average, but she doesn’t mind it. Freddie wrinkles her nose at her, nursing her ginger ale.

           

“I don’t know how you can stand that stuff.”

           

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

           

“That’s what they told me about jogging. I’m not convinced.”

           

Alana laughs.

           

“You aren’t working tonight are you?”

           

“I’m always working.” Freddie answers sharply. She regrets the immediacy of her response and softens her rebuff. “I’m not on the clock, but if I see anything newsworthy I’ll investigate. If you’re worried about Tattlecrime coverage, I’m not the person you should be watching. I’m too well known to eavesdrop effectively in these circles.”

           

Freddie pauses, unsure as to whether or not to proceed. Alana’s hands are warm on her midsection and she decides to continue despite her reservations.

           

“Keep an eye out for a cute blonde in a pink dress. Wendy’s on another story tonight so I doubt she’ll bother you, but if she does tell her I say ‘hi’ and she’ll back off.”

           

Alana registers the pause and the drop in tone. It’s isn’t information that Freddie parts with easily. It’s a concession and Freddie seldom makes concessions.

           

“You didn’t have to tell me that.” Alana affirms, into her hair, cautious as to Freddie’s reaction..

           

Freddie shrugs, sipping from her drink.

           

“I just wanted to make sure I wouldn’t have to pry you and Will apart later tonight.”

           

“Do I get a reward for being a bad journalist?” Freddie jokes darkly.

           

“Maybe.” Alana catches one of Freddie’s curls between her finger. “Probably. I need to get back to the table though, the others are probably wondering if I’m going to make the front page. I’ll come back in a bit.”

           

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

           

“I won’t.”

           

Alana plants a kiss on Freddie’s curls, before turning back to the booth. Upon her arrival she finds Zeller with his phone out, the others at the table crowding him in excitement.


	10. Chapter 10

“What did I miss?”

           

“Zeller has to lawyer up.”

           

“That doesn’t sound good. What’s the charge?”

           

“Treason, an old offense, but a classic. I should like to go down in the books as one of the few and the proud to turn against their own government.” Price says amicably as Zeller rolls his eyes.

           

“Ha ha, very funny. What do you think are the odds that he’s already sleeping? If I wake up Bella he is going to be livid.”

           

Beverly checks her phone. “It’s only a quarter to eleven, so I think, if he’s still agonizing budget cuts on the department, the chances of catching him conscious are pretty high.”

           

Brian grins grimly at the assessment and starts punching the number into his phone.  Will’s concentration remains on Alana.

           

“What happened with Freddie?” he inquires as she slips into the booth next to him.

           

“I talked to her. She promised won’t bother you tonight. You can have fun without having to look over your shoulder.”

           

“Forgive me if I don’t value her word very highly.” Will mutters.

           

“Then value mine instead.” Alana says gently, rubbing his arm in assurance.

           

Will offers a small smile in return, though even Alana’s fortitude does little to assuage his anxiety.           

           

“It’s ringing.”

           

“Will make sure he isn’t ordering pizza.” Beverly orders, laughing. She watched Alana and Will’s exchange with slight concern, and after they part, Alana communicates her mixed success with a shrug.

           

“Sure.” Will echoes Beverly’s smile with some effort, longing to dismiss his concerns about Freddie Lounds for the time being. He leans in toward Zeller’s head until he can hear the phone ring.

           

“This is going to be awful.” Zeller mutters.

           

It rings once, then twice.

           

“You better have a good reason for calling me this late, Zeller.” Jack’s voice is commanding even through the tinny reception on Zeller’s phone.

           

“Jack, hi. Um, yeah I definitely do.”

           

The line is silent.

           

“Well?”

           

“I was thinking, about that case in Jacksonville…”

           

Price narrows his eyes from across the table and Beverly leans forward, hoping to catch the other half of the conversation.

           

“What do you have for me? Ballistics isn’t going to be ready until Monday so any bright ideas you have are more than welcome.”

           

“You see, the victim, in the case…”

           

Price puts a exhausted hand to his temple and Alana is staring at him incredulously. Will can’t help but suppress a drunk laugh at how horribly the call is going astray.

           

Despite all reason, Zeller continues to flail, saying absolutely nothing of consequence while yammering Jack’s ear off.

           

“Zeller. Spit it out. Do you have something for me or not? If you do make t clear. You’re talking circles and it’s giving me a headache.”

           

“Jack…”

           

“Yes?”

           

“I’mintroubleandIneedalawyer-“

           

“You have GOT to be-“ Zeller slams the phone shut and it flies out of his hand onto the table in his panic. The beat up flip phone skitters to the middle of the table in front of the five horrified onlookers. Everyone that part.

           

“You hung up on him.” Will observes, dumbstruck.

           

“Dude, you hung up on _Jack_.” Beverly asks, turning the phone over to see if Jack will call back. “Talk about digging yourself deeper on the whole night call thing.”

           

“That was really ill-advised.”

           

“I’m drunk! And he sounded like he was at hulk-angry. This is going to fuck me, isn’t it?” Zeller moans, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.  With reluctance he reclaims his phone, staring at it with equal parts terror and anticipation. Price slides him over his martini and Zeller accepts it gratefully, downing it in a twitchy gulp

           

“Hanging up on him probably made him even madder.” Alana points out, momentarily oblivious to Zeller’s panic. Everyone turns to look at her and her eyes go wide in realization. “Sorry! I didn’t meant to say that out loud.”

           

Seconds drag as Zeller’s phone remains undisturbed and everyone waits for the inevitable phone call.

 

A server stops by the table and is waved away in near silence as suspense mounts.

           

“I guess he’s going to wait until Monday.” Beverly says, breaking the silence.

           

“That’s kind of good news?” Will adds, attempting to comfort Zeller’s distraught position.

           

“It could be worse.” Alana agrees.

           

“Yeah...” Price says, catching a glimpse of someone across the bar. “Don’t look over, but Jack’s definitely here.”


	11. Chapter 11

“What?” Zeller hisses.

           

“This is funny, but actually did you take out an ad in the paper?” Beverly asks. “I swear to god I saw Chilton like five minutes ago trying make friends or something.”

           

Alana snorts into her beer and Will laughs. “Chilton is not here.”

           

“Jack is not here.” Zeller laments.

           

“Okay here’s the plan.” Beverly says, dropping her voice to a semi-conspiratorial volume. “Alana’s going to go distract Jack with stimulating psychology conversation and once he’s distracted, Zeller you break for the pool tables. After Alana’s exhausted her repertoire, Price will intercept and get Jack liquored like a good old boy and by the time Zeller’s done his third game of snooker, Jack will be nice and mellow and Zeller can return unscathed.”

           

“I think that might actually work.” Zeller assesses after a moment.

           

“It definitely will.” Alana says, tracking Jack in her gaze.

           

“What do I do?” Will asks.

           

“You’re seconds away from an arrest so you’re with me so you can sit tight like a good suspect.” Beverly reminds him, flashing a grin.

           

“Is now really the time to playing games though? While Zeller’s life hangs in the balance?” Will asks, adopting a semi-serious tone. Beverly shakes her head a smile tugging at her lips. 

           

“You’re not getting out that easy, Graham.” She says, moving her empty glass to the edge of the table. He’s caught in her gaze and he isn’t self-conscious about it in the least. Price exchanges a knowing glance with Zeller.           

           

“Worth a shot.”

           

“Alana, make me proud.” Brian says as Alana slips out of the booth, she gives him a sloppy salute.

           

“I always do.” Alana assures him, before moving to intercept Jack on his tour through the bar. Will can finally see him and notices he isn’t alone. Bella is standing alongside him dressed in an exquisite emerald dress. They must have come from a prior social engagement. Alana garners Jack’s attention and soon enough the duo is engaged in conversation.

           

Beverly, who was also watching Jack and Bella, moves a hand forward. “Okay Zeller, make a break for it.” Will moves to permit Zeller an easy escape, and soon he drifts into the crowd inconspicuously.

           

“I’m going to sidle up to the bar and wait for my opportunity if you two don’t mind.” Price says.

           

“Not at all.” Will says.

           

“Good luck.” Beverly adds, sliding out to let him out.

           

“Don’t need it, but thanks.” Price, too, disappears into the crowd, heading in the direction of the bar.  Will and Beverly watch as he weaves his way through, stopped every few feet by a colleague or acquaintance.

           

As a figurehead in the department, Price afford to could mingle with some of the bigger players in the bureau. For the first time, Will notices how he dismissed the opportunity for social climbing in favor of keeping company with Beverly and Zeller, two younger members in the department. Will appreciates the loyalty.

           

Will turns back to the table. Beverly is relaxed across from him, taking in sights of the crowd. Completely unguarded and content, Beverly’s body language communicates volumes. Will is happy that they are alone together once again. Crowds stress him regardless of the situation and in the booth there is some semblance of distance from the throng of the bar.

           

“Having fun?” He inquires. She turns back to him, laughing. “Of course I am, aren’t you?”

           

Will nods, a small smile playing at his lips, before taking a sip of his drink. “Thanks for bringing me. I probably wouldn’t have come if you hadn’t stopped by.”

           

“I know.” Beverly answers confidently. “Sometimes people need a little push and I thought you could use a night off.”

           

“It’s really good. Better than I expected.” Will admits with less reluctance than he expects.

           

“We’re fun people once you get past our stunning egos and gallows humor.” Beverly takes a pull from Will’s drink, watching Alana continue to engage in what looks like a thoughtful argument with Jack in which Bella seems to be moderator.

           

“I’ve always liked you.”

           

The confession comes out unbidden and Will regrets it instantly. Beverly doesn’t turn away from her watch, but he can tell she heard him, a soft smile on her lips. She looks back at him.

           

“Do you want to dance?”

           

“What?”

           

“People are dancing by the jukebox. Do you want to dance with me?”

           

“It’s less of about desire and more about logistics. This may shock you, but I not a very good dancer.” Will informs her, ushering the empty glasses to the edge of the table.

 

Beverly laughs, looking at him with easy appraisal. “Forgive my candor, but you all but broadcast an inability to dance. It’s not a matter of if you can dance it’s whether or not you want to. No one’s going to be looking at you if you’re with me.” Beverly winks and Will has to smile.

 

“That’s true. You look stunning.” The compliment is effortless on his lips and he takes full pleasure in her reaction as much as she tries to conceal it.

           

“Don’t sell yourself short. You are wearing that shirt.” Beverly gestures benevolently and Will laughs. “I think it’s quite stylish.”

 

Will sizes up the crowd, he can no longer see any of his students which bodes well and he feels enough liquid courage to get out of the booth. Beverly’s finishes his drink, watching him expectantly. 

           

“So…dancing?” Will extends a hand to her. Beverly slides the wine bottle at her side, under the table and accepts the gesture, sliding out of the booth. Her hand is soft and her touch light on his. “I’d love to.”

           

 He leads her over the improvised dance floor and spins her in front of him.

           

“Ooh, does someone have moves?”

           

“One. I have one move.” Will corrects. He can feel anxiety mounting, as they are enveloped by other people dancing. The jukebox is playing new and old rock songs and the energy is tangible. Beverly paws his chest with one hand, bringing his attention back to her. She makes direct eye contact and it stills Will’s growing animosity for a moment.


	12. Chapter 12

Beverly’s a great dancer. Will wants to do is watch, but he’s aware he’s also supposed to moving. Settling on swaying to the music, it garners a bright grin from Beverly who is unfazed by his lack of skill.  

           

Taking his hand, she guides him through the music and he mimics her movements. It’s enjoyable, if not incredibly embarrassing. Will doesn’t know many of the songs, his musical tastes are largely limited to instrumentals, but he registers Beverly’s recognition and excitement at the beginning of each song with pleasure.

 

After the fifth or sixth song, something catches Will’s eyes over Beverly’s shoulder. He freezes a moment and Beverly follows suit, curious as to Will’s distraction. Pulling her close, Will explains he has to make a quick phone call. Beverly nods, confused.

           

“Come back after okay?”

           

“It will only be a second.” Will passes Alana on her way to join Beverly as he exits the dance floor, breaking for the bar exit. Will’s head is swimming, but not so much that he would question his ability to identify Abigail on sight. Moving through the crowd with the acquired ease of being a few drinks in, he reaches the door in record time, avoiding all obstacles.

           

The night air is cool and crisp against the rising heat and humidity of the bar. Will reaches for his phone and dials, wandering down the porch away from the patrons smoking, waiting for Hannibal to pick up.           

           

“Will?”

           

“Sorry for calling so late.” Will leans himself against the side of the building. “I’m at a bar off of-.” Will has to pause to remember what Beverly had said. “Route 7. Abigail is here and I was wondering if you could come and pick her up. The place is swarming with FBI agents and other law enforcement and I’m with people so I can’t get her out myself.”

 

Will takes a deep breath and realizes how impolite he’s being, barraging Hannibal with information and asking for a favor at the present hour.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m out for drinks with the forensics team. I wouldn’t have bothered you if I had any other option.” Will finishes lamely.

           

“It is quite alright, Will. We are friends and what are friends for if not assistance in times of distress. Are you sure it’s Abigail?” Hannibal, who had been enjoying some late night reading, sets his copy of _American Psycho_ on his coffee table and moves to dress for the errand.

           

“She’s wearing a lot of makeup, but it’s her.”

           

“Very well. I’ll come and get her shortly.”

           

“Okay. Um Jack’s here so heads up. Also you might want to…dress down.”

           

There is silence on the line.

           

“It’s just it’s not really a nice place and with so many people here you may not want to dress so…fashionably?” Hannibal hates Will on the other end of the line for a solid forty seven seconds, leaving Will to wait anxiously for his response. With mild irritation, Hannibal returns the rich teal plaid suit he was planning to wear to the closet.

           

“What would you suggest?” is the clipped reply. Hannibal is well aware of Will’s slurred practicality, but Hannibal’s track record indicates, he prefers satisfaction over caution every time.

           

“Maybe jeans? A t-shirt?”

           

Hannibal pinches the bridge of his nose, willing himself against having an aneurysm.

           

“I’ll find something suitable. Keep your phone on. I’ll call you when I arrive.”

           

Hannibal hangs up, his mood somewhat testy after speaking to Will, and turns with renewed determination to his closet.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Abigail, having seen Will spot her, bolted to the ladies room. Clad in a miniskirt and gauzy black halter, Abigail was able to gain entrance to the bar less by the virtues of her beat up fake I.D. than by the crumpled twenty dollar bills in her back pocket.

 

Abigail was just on her way to sit with this guy named Travis and his girlfriend, she wasn’t sure if she was his girlfriend or not considering how friendly he was to her, Cindy, when Will spotted her from the dance floor. Gin and tonic in hand, she disappeared into the crowd.           

 

Now, standing in front of the mirror in the women’s washroom, she preens, taking out her eyeliner to touch up her winged eyeliner. The bathroom’s cleaner than expected and she takes a breath, trying to figure out how to escape Will’s no doubt extremely parental and unwanted lecture about underage drinking. She gulps down more of her gin and tonic and sets the glass down on the counter. With renewed concentration, she tries to balance line on her other eye.

 

Her hand quivers and the line goes rogue, a botched squiggle on her lid.

 

“Shit.” She hisses, licking an index finger to erase the mistake.

 

“Having trouble?”

 

Abigail jumps and Freddie smiles knowingly.

 

“Relax. I’m not going to tell anyone. Girls like us have to stick together, right?”

 

Abigail isn’t sure if Freddie is being sarcastic, because after three drinks her mind starts to feel fuzzy and she feels liable to say anything so she bites down on her tongue rather than spill anything unsavory.

           

She stares at Freddie with wide eyes “Right?”

           

“Here, let me even you up.” Freddie takes the eye liner out of Abigail’s hand and tilts her head up. “Close your eyes.”

 

Abigail does and feels the delicate brush along her lid. Freddie’s applies eye liner with a sureness that Abigail covets. “Open up.”

           

Her eyes open and she turns from Freddie’s appraising face and quirked smile to the mirror. Even in the low lighting of the bathroom, she looks pale as death. She tries a smile, but it feels awkward on her face, so she stops. “You have your daddy’s eyes,” that’s what they always used to say. Inexperienced with alcohol, her emotions are raw in her chest. She ignores them, looking from herself to Freddie’s reflection. Stoic and unfeeling, Freddie is enviable in her composure.

           

“Thanks.” She says weakly.

           

“You’re welcome.”

           

The bathroom door creaks open and Will calls in. “Abigail, are you in here?”

           

Abigail stiffens and Freddie casts a haughty look over her shoulder.

           

“Wanna shake him?”

           

Abigail nods sharply.

           

“Follow me.”

           

Freddie pulls Abigail into a bathroom stall, quietly shutting the door behind them. 

 

The stall walls are a mottled teal and covered with sharpie and pen graffiti. Warnings, advice, and arguments clutter the aluminum walls. Abigail wants to read them, but the sound of footsteps extinguishes her desire.  Will steps further into the bathroom, looking around cautiously. Freddie grabs Abigail’s leg under the knee, lifting it to her hip, and presses flush against her. The sudden proximity surprises Abigail and she gasps. Freddie leans into whisper into her ear. “Relax, we’re just going to play girlfriends for a second.”

           

Abigail laughs and it’s a huff against Freddie’s hair.

           

“He’s going to hate us.”

           

Freddie smirks.

           

“No sweetheart. Just me.”

 

Will is in front of the stalls now.

 

“Abigail?”

 

Abigail sighs and it’s too loud in the echo-y bathroom. Will freezes. He doesn’t recognizes the voice, but he knows the context. Awash with the sensation of awkwardness and intrusion, he catches sight of three feet, two in crimson Mary Janes and one in a single black ballet flat under one of the stalls.

 

Freddie moans and its so bizarre that Abigail has to bury her face into Freddie’s neck to muffle her laughter halfway.

 

“Can I help you Mr. Graham? We’re kind of busy at the moment.”

 

Will mutters something inaudible, before they hear footsteps exiting the bathroom. Freddie extricates herself from Abigail’s arm, gently releasing her leg to the floor. Abigail feels oddly shy.           

           

“Do you that a lot?” She asks plainly. Freddie runs a hand through her curls, adjusting her coat slightly.

           

“Irritate Will Graham? I can only imagine.”

           

“No, I mean like…this.“ She feels gestures between them, ineffectually.

           

Freddie shrugs. “Sometimes. Never discount anything in your arsenal as a tool for subterfuge, protection or aggression.”

           

Abigail nods, still tipsy. Freddie opens the stall door and peers out to check if the coast is clear. It is and she exits smoothly. Rounding back, she murmurs, “Stay in here for five more minutes, after that you can leave without Will catching you. You’re on your own now, as I have other business to attend to. Be a good girl and stay out of sight.”

           

Freddie exits the bathroom with a swagger, beaming at Will who is waiting just outside the bathroom, before joining Alana on the dance floor. Alana, dancing alongside Beverly, smiles at Freddie and pulls her close.


End file.
